


Bridging the Gap (honey, call me home)

by BestOfOne



Series: seeing the past in you [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Getting Together, How Do I Tag, Idiots in Love, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Blind Betrayal, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, oh well, past trauma, reunion of sorts, still can’t tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:53:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27005380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BestOfOne/pseuds/BestOfOne
Summary: In the end, they collide like the weights of Newton’s Cradle.
Relationships: Paladin Danse/Male Sole Survivor, Robert Joseph MacCready & Male Sole Survivor
Series: seeing the past in you [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778119
Kudos: 12





	Bridging the Gap (honey, call me home)

**Author's Note:**

> A conclusion to the question left unanswered, “is there a happy ending?” 
> 
> This piece may be a little confusing with the POV because I don’t know how to actually write a story, only what my head tells me is okay so, POV leaning more towards Danse is regular font while Nate is italics.

Danse's morning begins as usual but it's tinged with an almost electric hum, the air charged with potential. But for what? He goes through the motions of packing his bag, holstering his pistol and picking up his laser rifle. For a moment, he hesitates, should he stop by a merchant and buy more rounds? Did he pack the stimpacks? 

His monologue goes on for a minute, his arm outstretched and reaching for the door handle. Right, today's the day for confrontation. After a year and a half by his guess, he's been working up his nerve. Dealing with his existential crisis of being not all human. You'd think it'd be a done deal, learning almost all your memories are false and you're life's a sham but no, apparently not. 

The road to now was fraught with nightmares of Nate, a whole lot of blood and a guilt that weighed more than the Prydwen resting on his chest when he woke. Hell, it took a lot out of him just to shake out of it and then some to break the habit of falling asleep with a rifle in his hands. But because he no longer struggles in his sleep and needs to hold a knife in his hand to drift off, doesn't mean he's entirely ready to share a bed. 

There's no backing out of today. Especially when he'd already sent a response. 

_It's a fucking dream. This entire thing has been one fucked up nightmare and at any moment he's going to wake and realize he's still cold and Danse is gone. There's no way– the rough static breaches his thoughts, turning his attention to the broadcast currently playing on loop._

_“If you’re hear–g this, kn– that I’m sorry. Please meet at the foll–ng coor–ate–“_

_Curse his pip-boy radio for deciding now was the time to act up. But that's all he can retain from the message, despite listening for an hour now. Even sitting on the tallest roof in Sanctuary did absolutely nothing to boost the signal and he still doesn't have the meeting place yet. If he even wants to go, that is. The anger and absolute joy pouring through him currently makes him want to both cry with joy and also mercilessly slaughter an entire building's worth of ghouls._

_He doesn't know what he'll do when he sees Danse again, doesn't think about it. Yet._

As if the world was against him, not soon after daybreak, clouds roll in to cover the beautiful sunrise. He thought he'd scare himself into not showing but as it turns out, the weather is trying to make that call for him. The ominous clouds rumbling above almost crying out for him to turn around to avoid the storm. But he'll be damned if he went one more day without at least trying to satiate his wanting.

That was another thing to confront altogether, the absolute and all-consuming confusion he felt towards Nate. Whether it was sustainable, worth pursuing and if it was just another thing to recklessly charge into without thought. But he'd made peace with his demons and thought long and hard about it. Recalling bits and pieces of wishes throughout his travels with the other man, stolen moments, the aching loneliness sitting in his own chest. 

Nate wasn't just a quiet kiss in the dark, something to regret or forget. He was an enigma, a magnet to all that Danse was. He remembers when they'd first met, the unknown variable jumping into the fray, strong and unyielding against so many of the Commonwealth's horrors. How many times had he mulled over it? 

The answer was prominent in his movements, picking up the pace. He was tired of second-guessing. 

_MacCready has done nothing to ease his growing energy, having woken him at the first sign of daylight to tell him this frequency began to broadcast at four in the morning. That they'd listened in to check if it was a distress call but found it to be Danse's first contact in almost two years. After that, he was wide awake and absolutely manic. His most prominent thought was a curse at Mac for not telling him sooner and then a string of mutterings thanking the radio team for finding it._

_He was practically vibrating, both from his nerves and the morning chill. Danse was alive and had finally revealed himself. He wasn't a ghost in the back of Nate's mind, a silhouette on the ever-dimming horizon. He was tangible and alive, begging for his forgiveness._

_Currently inside his room now, he was busy packing his bag. He was captivated in his task and his thoughts, not noticing the former mercenary watching from the door._

_"Hey, boss. We finally got the meeting area. The radio team had to make a few adjustments but–" MacCready's voice paused, coming from the direction of his room door. "You doing alright?"_

_The thing about feeling so low all the time and having to fake being decently okay made him respond almost automatically, "yeah, I'm all good. Just a little worried."_

_He gave no other indication of the growing knot in his stomach, or the building apprehension sitting in his head. Just finished putting things in his pack, wanting to grab breakfast at the Canteen and setting off to find Danse._

_A deep sigh sounded from behind him, "you don't have to lie to me. It's okay to be scared, shouldn't you know this? After all that time you spent making all of us confront ourselves, let us help you."_

_He didn't turn around, fearing that if he did, he'd see Mac somehow managing to pull off puppy dog eyes and turning this whole conversation into an impromptu therapy meeting. He didn't want to feel down right now, so he shrugged. With his back still turned, he answered._

_"I know, but can we have this talk later? I don't want to spend the entire walk there feeling like crap," his words were blunt but he knew Mac didn't care. He'd preferred Nate be to the point with him anyhow._

_"Fine. But don't expect me to be happy with him after what he did. Ditching you like that. Twice!”_

_He paused in his motions, this time twisting around to put MacCready in his view._

_"What do you mean, ‘ **twice** '?" _

Logically, he knows Nate has a team constantly monitoring radio frequencies in the Commonwealth. He knows that not all signals are a priority, only distress beacons and Minutemen broadcasts. His message might not have been heard by Nate yet, he could still probably take it off the air. Cancel for another day. With the way this day is going, maybe even just scrap his journey across the Commonwealth entirely. 

First, it was the weather. Then a pack of mongrels tore a hole in his favorite (only) jacket. Now, he's running from an ambush of raiders and ghouls that followed the sound of gunfire. At this point, he's almost ready to call it a day. 

One side of his mind is occupied with cursing the area that is the Cambridge Ruins and another is flipping through a script of possible outcomes. 

Ducking behind a corner, a scenario pops into his brain. One, Nate sees him, gets one good look at him and then shoots him. He has no idea why he thinks this is possible, Nate would never. Would he? If Danse were in his place he'd be angry too, but angry enough to shoot him? 

Growling and gunfire still follow as he springs back into running, this time into the remains of a coffee shop. Two, Nate embraces him with a much needed hug and they skip off into the sun and live a happily ever after. Danse frowns at the sheer stupidity of that, no way Nate would let him get off free of consequence after his year long hiatus. 

Cocking his pistol, he takes down a ghoul and a raider before moving once again. Climbing up some stairs -nearly slipping all the way back down- and maneuvering up onto the rooftops, he settles on his haunches to hopefully wait until the screeching and explosions stop. Three, Nate nearly kills him and or maims him out of anger before ending him with a kiss, the perfect way to go. Entirely unrealistic but Danse can dream. 

Last but not least, Nate is a no-show and leaves Danse to die alone because he was too foolish to realize how good he had it before he went and decided to fuck it all up with his insecurities. Something in his chest aches at that thought. 

A stray bullet misses his head and imbeds itself into a wall. Sighing deeply, he vaults from cover. Hopes and dreams indeed. 

_Each step he takes towards the Cambridge Police Station sets him on edge. With as much anger that's coursing through him at the moment, he's surprised he hasn't managed to find some trouble yet. The raiders in the area have seemingly left for better pastures, and he had no trouble dispatching a few enemies here and there on his way through Concord._

_Kicking a rock a little too harshly, he frowns at the memory of the conversation he'd had with Mac a while ago._

_"Are you kidding me?" He could barely hold it in. Whatever emotion he was feeling, it wasn't good. He felt as good as the nasty storm brewing outside, wanted to punch someone._

_"I'm sorry! I– he begged me. Told me to keep it a secret," a lighthearted smile crossed MacCready's face, "I mean, it shouldn't matter, right? You're meeting him today anyway so–"_

_Nate had cut him off with a swift punch to the shoulder, practically growled that he was lucky he hadn't decided to hit the shoulder he often rested his gun against. He didn't stick around to hear more apologies, instead grabbing a mirelurk omelette from the Canteen and left to the main gate._

_Practically stalking around the roads, he tried to calm himself down. He didn't want to be angry, didn't want to act too rashly when he sees Danse. At this rate, if he gets any grumpier, he just might shoot Danse in the leg and call it even. Or better yet, just deck him and drag his unconscious body back to a settlement and leave him there to go on his own year-long break._

_But how else was he supposed to feel after learning that Danse not only found him in his sorry state, but brought him back? Saw him at his worse and left him again. Nate felt like a fool, for everything he did that night. He wasn’t even angry at Danse for it, only that he was caught in such a state._

_Finally breaking the border into the small town, he's pulled from his thoughts by the small skirmish currently going on. Of course, this day couldn't get any better._

__

_At least he’s given a chance to let off a little steam._

__

The sounds of battle are dwindling and Danse has no idea why. It's not because they gave up, no. The ghouls are silent, from what he can hear over the slightly torrent of rain overhead. Probably all dead. But the shouts of surprise are echoing around him. Something is dispatching the raiders, and quickly. 

__

Not wanting to get caught up in the way of a killing machine, he takes the newfound opportunity to quickly slide around a couple of buildings and into the police station. It's still as dusty as he remembers, but now bereft of most BOS traces. Only a select few pieces remain, from a cartridge of ammo to an arm piece of armor laying under a bed, engraved with their insignia. 

__

A storm of memories circle his head, his team, Nate, the Brotherhood. 

__

He doesn't get much more time to dwell in what was, because as soon as he rounds the corner and enters the room to the left, the front doors can be heard bursting open. 

__

_Stupid raiders and their stupid power armor. Nate can't bring himself to think about raiders somehow learning to not shoot themselves in the foot, let alone restore power armor. But here he is, riding on the back of one, clutching desperately at the helmet release latches, hoping to get the damn piece of metal off and end the entire ordeal._

__

_The poor idiot wearing the suit tries and fails to throw him off, hitting him into walls and trying to reach behind himself. But Nate knows the wingspan and range of these suits. Knows them like he knows Danse hates rain solely for the time it rusted out his suit, how Danse had nightmares much like his own, that sometimes out of habit he slept with a knife under his–_

__

_An almost satisfying hiss alerts him to his fingers having hit the right spots. Throwing the useless helmet to the ground, he unsheathes his knife and drives it into the raider's neck. This time he doesn't avoid being thrown off as the body falls forward, the blood gurgling out and pooling on the hardwood floors._

__

_Noticing that last detail, he looks around at his surroundings and finds that he's now inside._

__

_"The building that started it all," he glances around, thanking his past self for not burning the entire place down that one time in a drunken stupor- it was **one time** , and he’d had a nightmare about Danse outside of that cold bunker, dying by Maxson’s hand. _

__

_A creaking noise to his left alerts him, and like some gunslinger from an old western his dad used to watch, he’s already pulled his gun and taken aim._

____

Danse had forgotten the grace Nate moved with in battle. All strong muscles and moving power, killing and ending the fight just as fast as it had begun. In all his scenarios, he could never predict the show he had the chance of witnessing. He'd barely had the time to move back to the doorway leading to the main room to see it. 

____

Nate on the back of some raider in a suit, digging into their helmet to remove it. He couldn't tell how, both the armor and Nate slick with rain, yet he manages to maintain his balance as he continues to struggle with the clasps. The tiniest hiss can be heard over the grunting, helmet flying to the floor. Danse didn't even see him take out his knife. All he saw was the raider crumple, Nate rolling off and coming to a stop somewhere near the middle of the room. It must've been something else entirely to see him at war, determined to fight a battle and go home to his family, hailed a hero. 

____

Nate stands there for a moment, almost in a daze before looking around. His eyes scan over the room like his did only moments ago. 

____

"The building that started it all," he says in an almost reverent whisper, and that's Danse's breaking point. His chest almost feels like it caves in as he takes his first step towards him, the only thing that’s kept him anchored for so long. 

____

He stumbles out of the shadow of the doorway floorboards creaking underfoot. Just like the knife, he doesn't even see Nate unholster his gun before it's aimed in his face. Maybe he was right, Nate was going to shoot him. But at this point, he probably deserves it. 

____

A solid best of silence passes before Nate registers that his gun is still poised to fire at Danse. Clicking the safety on, he places it back in its holster on his thigh. Both parties are hit with what feels most prominently like longing, ingrained into them the moment of their split. They stand apart still, distantly aware of everything, how a small chill is working it’s way into both of them because of the rain and small drafts in the room. How Danse’s hand hangs between them, slightly reaching out but restrained. 

____

There's only a breath shared between them before one of them begins to shift. Nate practically launches himself into Danse's arms. What did Danse do in his life to ever deserve this? Absolute peace locks into his soul, anxieties chased away for a moment. 

____

Danse remains locked in place, even as Nate hugs him. He's still for a beat longer before his arms hug Nate back. He's unsure of his movements, does he hug back? Something snaps in his head that it doesn't matter anymore. He's not the aloof idiot he was a year ago. Hesitantly, he lets his arms loosen. 

____

Just as he was beginning to relax, Nate leans back, arms falling back to his sides. Or at least, that's what Danse thought. 

____

_Now that he's almost properly expressed his happiness at having Danse back, he can't help that his arm has a mind of its own._

____

With a blink of an eye, Danse is reeling back into the wall, clutching his now rapidly bruising jaw. 

____

Danse knows he deserves that. More than that. He's grateful that he at least wasn't shot. 

____

"A fucking year! Do you have any idea how many times I worried that you'd gotten yourself killed?" 

____

Nate’s arms are flailing wildly, gesturing to Danse and around him, exasperated, "I practically scoured the earth looking for any sign of you! And there was nothing!" 

____

All he can do is stare, cradling his jaw, half listening to the shaming he's being given. The other half is studying Nate, noting the minor differences. The prominent stubble on his face, the birthmark on his hand that he wishes so many mornings that he could trace, the wrinkles of crow's feet at the corner of his eyes. Rain still dripping from his hair, still damp from just barging in. 

____

_Nate doubts Danse is listening anymore, or if he ever was. In the corner of his eye, he can see Danse studying him, almost analytically. He wonders briefly if Danse notices any differences since they last saw each other._

____

_Now he's looking at Danse, words trailing off into silence. He’s slightly apologetic about the punch, but it’s washed away in the shared staring._

____

He's at the second biggest loss of control he's ever felt in his life. A part of him wants to move closer, to touch and hold, never let go. But another part aches with paranoia and doubt. It's been a year and a half, who knows if Nate's still maintained his feelings for Danse in his extended absence? 

____

_Nate has too many memories with that look Danse is currently sporting. Like someone had told him he couldn't ever have anything in his life that made him happy. Like he was telling himself that._

____

_He'd promised himself that he'd make sure he had less memories with it after they found each other again._

____

Danse's heart is dropping into his stomach, dread settling on his shoulders. He's already flipping through apologies to say before bolting out the door but he doesn't get a chance to mumble a word before everything slots into place. 

____

_Nate has never claimed to have any sense of impulse control, ever. His time in the military taught him how to move with efficiency. What it didn't do, however, was tame his constant motion. His drive for progress in everything he did. Even now, with that somber look Danse had on his face, he wanted nothing more than to wipe it away._

____

_And he did._

____

It's almost like his body short circuits, unable to process Nate. His face pressing closer and he stills. A mere inch between them, Nate stops. His warm breath ghosting against Danse's face. He feels Nate’s hand come up and push his away from his jaw in favor of his own, gently rubbing the skin. 

____

_"Is this okay?"_

____

_Because just like Danse, Nate is scared. Has been since waking up in that empty med bay room with a note on the bedside table. Since he first looked at Danse knowing he'd stupidly fallen in love._

____

_Now wasn't the time to wax poetic about the almost subdued colors of Danse's eyes. Or the small scars adorning his face, making him so absolutely alive in Nate's eyes. His origins never mattered to Nate, so long as he was by his side. Fighting the good fight, battling creatures and people alike. Nothing mattered more than this, a piece of his life. Because even if Danse rejected him, he'd still be a part of it._

____

He managed a nod before Nate overtakes him. It’s only slightly awkward and stilted, but that doesn’t matter. 

____

He’s uncomfortable and inexperienced with this, his hands fumble for placement before settling for wrapping around Nate’s middle. After that, he settles into the warmth of the moment building in his chest and radiating through him. 

____

_Nate is, for lack of a better phrase, entirely too enraptured to care about his depleting oxygen as he practically smothers Danse. Hands moving to hold him closer while simultaneously stepping forward to close the space between them. Pressing the other against the wall, he's reminded of his need to breathe by Danse disconnecting them, laughing quietly._

____

"That was, strange. A welcome kind of strange," Danse still reeling from the implications of it all. 

____

Nate takes a deep breathe in front of him before backing away, allowing Danse space once again. Something in his chest reacts bitterly, wanting to close the distance but decides against it. They still have much to talk about. Nate must think this too, as suddenly he's glaring at Danse yet again. His hackles begin to rise, expecting another stray hand to find the other side of his still stinging jaw. 

____

It never lands, instead a indignant huff slightly tinged with anger takes its place, "so, Mac tells me you two had a run-in a few months ago?" 

____

He's definitely in trouble now. 

____

**Author's Note:**

> How long have I been piecing this together? For some time. Am I happy with it? Like, most of it. Will I be back to edit this series? Maybe. Feel free to make that process a little easier by pointing things out.
> 
> Can you tell that I don’t really know how to write physical intimacy? That part was touch and go for awhile, apologies if it’s too cringe.


End file.
